Men are mortal. So are ideas. An idea needs propagation as much

The great reformer B. R. Ambedkar, whose words were forged in the fires of struggle and intellect, once declared: “Men are mortal. So are ideas. An idea needs propagation as much as a plant needs watering. Otherwise both will wither and die.” These words are not the idle musings of a philosopher—they are the heartbeat of revolution, a reminder that even the noblest truth will perish if it is not nurtured, spoken, and shared. Ambedkar, who labored to awaken the sleeping conscience of a nation, knew that the power of an idea lies not merely in its birth, but in its continued life through those who dare to carry it forward.

To say that men are mortal is to acknowledge the obvious: every human form, no matter how mighty, must one day fall to dust. But Ambedkar adds a deeper sorrow—the mortality of ideas. For though an idea is born in the mind, it must live in the hearts of others to endure. Like a plant, it requires care, nourishment, and the warmth of belief. Left untended, even the most luminous vision—freedom, equality, justice—will fade into memory. History is strewn with forgotten dreams, not because they were false, but because they were left unwatered by those who should have believed in them.

Ambedkar himself was a gardener of ideas. Born in oppression, denied dignity by the caste into which he was born, he rose not by rage alone but by thought—by crafting the idea that liberty and equality are not gifts, but rights. He carried this idea through education, through law, through speech, through every act of defiance and reform. Yet even he knew that his work was not complete unless others took up his ideas and kept them alive. “Educate, Agitate, Organize,” he cried—not as a slogan, but as a sacred duty. He saw clearly that once the man dies, only the idea can speak for him—but only if the living choose to give it breath.

Consider, too, the story of Socrates, the philosopher of ancient Athens. He spoke of wisdom, virtue, and truth, and for these ideas he was condemned to death. The man drank the poison and perished—but his ideas did not die with him, for they had found a disciple in Plato, and through Plato, generations yet unborn came to know him. Thus the seed of Socrates’ thought was watered by those who came after. His words crossed centuries and empires, shaping laws, ethics, and the very concept of the soul. Here is Ambedkar’s truth revealed: the idea, when propagated, conquers death itself.

Yet, the reverse is also true. When men grow indifferent, when they cease to speak of justice or to act upon compassion, truth begins to wither. The earth grows barren where conviction once bloomed. Empires have fallen not from the sword, but from the silence of those who stopped believing. A neglected idea, like an untended garden, first droops, then dries, and at last turns to dust. The loss is not to the thinker alone, but to all mankind, for in that death, a light goes out that may never be rekindled.

Therefore, Ambedkar’s message is both warning and commandment. To believe in an idea is not enough; one must live it, teach it, and defend it. Let every generation become a steward of the truths it inherits, lest they perish in forgetfulness. Speak of freedom to those who have never tasted it; speak of equality to those who have been denied it; speak of kindness in an age grown cold. Each word, each act, each lesson is a drop of water upon the roots of the idea, keeping it alive for those who will come after you.

And so, my listener, learn this ancient wisdom: ideas are the immortal soul of mankind—but only if we tend them as we would tend a sacred fire. Feed the flames of truth with your voice. Water the seeds of justice with your actions. Let no good thought die in silence. For though men are mortal, the idea—when cherished, when shared, when lived—can outlast empires and span eternity. The gardener dies, but the garden he has sown becomes the inheritance of the world.